


if it should be over..

by sirnando



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 16:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15053687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirnando/pseuds/sirnando
Summary: They had played Bayern the previous day. The knock came right before the sun rose. Cristiano remembered because he hadn’t been able to fall asleep, so instead watched the stars and made shapes from the cracks in the ceiling.





	if it should be over..

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be for the rivalry day, but

They had played Bayern the previous day. The knock came right before the sun rose. Cristiano remembered because he hadn’t been able to fall asleep, so instead watched the stars and made shapes from the cracks in the ceiling.

He’d expected it, unconsciously, but on the surface hoped that James would let it go. He rose with the second knock.

_ You didn’t have to come,  _

_ I live right down the street _ . An index finger pointed in some arbitrary direction and an answer to a question Cristiano had not asked. Asking would’ve harshened reality. Solidified the fact that James was right down the street without Cristiano beside him.

They stood in the doorway, James shivering despite the tattered hoodie he’d pulled on. Munich was cold.  _ Munich was ugly _ Cristiano considered saying, but it was an opinion that hadn’t been asked for.

-

They had broken up with a nasty argument two days before James’ departure. That was their goodbye: a slam of a door and two strongly worded  _ forget about me _ ’s.

James had been hopeful about the relationship post-loan. Cristiano had less faith. He’d done it before, he told James that morning over breakfast. He had tried to “make it work” and it never did. They left, they forgot, they found someone new and James had no reason to believe this would be any different. “That’s life,” he finished with a bite of his eggs.

“Well that’s not me.” James had warmed up, disliked the accusations. 

_ Well _ , it ended when he signed the agreement to move. And James had always tolerated Cristiano’s pessimism, had even grown to accept it, but it’d never leaked into topics of James’s career and success.

So that’s how it rolled out: a fork staked into the table, two trembling voices, clothes stuffed messily into duffel bags and one Cristiano standing behind a door that nearly clipped the fingers off his right hand. The end.

The words exchanged in the hotel doorway were the first in months. Two floating, unmatched sentences that hung in the air between them before Cristiano concluded James wouldn’t leave until he was invited in.

-

The instinct was to jump onto Cristiano’s bed, like he’d done so many mornings before, but he sat down at the edge instead with his hands folded.  Cris didn’t show any signs of irritation so he lay down softly, staring up at the same cracks Cristiano had been. 

There was no definite purpose to his visit other than a sense of necessity he felt. Cristiano had ignored him in the locker room, the tunnel and James knew better than to disrupt his hyperfixation during the match. This was the last opportunity.

His shoulders relaxed when he felt Cristiano’s body lie down beside him. Two backs sinking into a cheap mattress. James filled the silence because Cristiano had never been a conversation starter, even more so in situations like these, and James hated silence.

Back home when Cris had been seething or stressed, pacing back and forth across the room, James had grabbed him and cupped his cheeks in his palms. He’d force Cris to stop moving and focus on James’ forehead or nose or close them altogether. And then he’d talk:  _ Isco can flip his eyelids inside out. I saw a car get driven into a store today. Last year I forgot about my mom’s birthday. There’s a spider on the wall behind us, and I’m sorry to say you’re going to be the one to kill it. _ Up until Cristiano’s breathing slowed and jaw unclenched.

He did the same now. Talked about how there were nicer hotels in Munich, how the beer was too bitter and that the home he lived in creaked whenever the wind blew. Except he kept his hands to himself and body flat down.

“I still love you, you know.” A whisper. He’d run out of stories to tell, but knew that was another question Cristiano was too scared to ask. “I do…” And he shifted onto his side to face Cris.

Cristiano was expression and motionless, save for the fist he made in the covers—a reaction James was familiar with. Cristiano was desperately trying to prove he was a rock, but a few soft touches had always revealed it was more of an eggshell.

So James shifted a bit closer and tucked his head into the crook of Cristiano’s neck, an awkward angle considering their position. Cris hummed immediately at the familiarity of it, cracking open for James quicker than usual.  _ I didn't find anyone new _ . _ I didn’t want to. There’s only you. _

James still used the same detergent, Cris thought. James still tickled his neck with the same soft breaths. James still did not oppose them switching positions, didn’t complain at the singular tears that dripped onto his hoodie. And Cristiano, it seemed, had done a horrible job at convincing himself he no longer needed him. 

-

There were no more words exchanged between them, yet the understanding was mutual— Cristiano with his eyes closed, one hand gripping James’s neck while James wrapped curls around his finger.

_ I should probably go…..  _ But neither shifted.  _ Yeah, you probably should. _

He awoke to a knock on the door. “We’re leaving in an hour!” Marcelo’s voice muffled behind the it. His joints were sore, left side of his face numbed from sleeping on it. But James was still cuddled up against him, softly snoring.

-

Packing was much quicker when James was helping him throw his clothes into duffel bags. Each article of clothing that James picked up reminded him of some story: the sentimental socks with holes in them that Cris cried over when he found them in the trash, pants that Cristiano wore on their first date and Cris’s half of the  _ I’m His _ t-shirt they bought at a carnival. The arrows on the both shirts pointed the same direction because neither was a  _ Hers _ .

They stood in the middle of the room, staring at the bags on the bed, fingers intertwined. Cristiano’s nostrils had started flaring, stress or fear or an unhealthy combination of both starting to fog up his head, so James turned to cup his cheeks.  _ I’m coming home, Cristiano. I’ll be home soon.  _ Cris nodded lightly.

James kept all of his promises. James still kissed Cristiano’s forehead instead of saying goodbye. James still loved in the same way. And Munich was beautiful.


End file.
